


leaving the magic behind

by rachel614 (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Hogwarts AU, Mycroft Knows All, eventual Sherlolly, they are all liars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:43:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rachel614
Summary: There are times when he walks the dark streets of London, fingers twitching for the next cigarette, and, closing his eyes to the flashes and glimmers of things he shouldn’t be able to see, wonders if things might have been different.—————AU where Sherlock, John, and Molly all leave the Wizarding world behind for different reasons. They meet by accident, and never realize any of the others is also magical.Set ambiguously post-Harry Potter. Not strictly a crossover: none of JK’s characters make it in except an unnamed cameo by our favorite herbologist and the reincarnation of Dominique Weasley as Meena.





	1. Sherlock

There are times when he walks the dark streets of London, fingers twitching for the next cigarette, and, closing his eyes to the flashes and glimmers of things he shouldn’t be able to see, wonders if things might have been different.  
It was Mycroft who had gone to Durmstrang, Mycroft who had insisted that Sherlock attend the foreign school as well. It was Mycroft whose minor position in the Ministry led to a powerful role in the British Government, and opened the door to Sherlock’s new life.  
He left the magic behind without a pang. He’d seen too many things in those seven years, and too much in the eleven years before that. Muggle drugs, he found, had four invaluable properties, which he could chose among by varying the dosage and kind: they alleviated his intolerable boredom, heightened his mental processes, dampened the memories, and- very occasionally- took him to the state where he could no longer distinguish what was unreal dreams and what impossible realities.  
He wishes he was a Muggle, unable to see the truth of things.  
He knows he could solve the cases easily, with a few circumspect spells, but instead he chooses cold logic as his instrument. He remembers, always, Mycroft’s first lesson: “Magic is a tool, subservient to the mind. Never forget that logic will take you farther than mere magic ever could.”  
He remembers this and he lives it.  
When there’s a case, he does not need the drugs. The thrill of solving it, aided only by his powers of observation and deduction, alleviates his boredom, exercises his mind, and distracts him from his past- his every thought and action an utter denial of his magic.  
At twenty-seven years old, he does not remember Eurus, or the devastation she wreaked when only four years old. He does not consider the dangers of suppressing his magic.  
But Mycroft does.


	2. John

The British-Afrikan Wizarding War leaves him shattered.  
He’d grown up on tales of the Second War of Voldemort, of the Golden Trio fighting a desperate battle for freedom and good. When war broke out between the Light and Dark Shamans of the Afrikan Congo, and Britain staunchly leaped to support its allies in Afrika, he’d signed up for the medical corps eagerly, ready to serve the Glory of Britain. (He would have gone in as a regular, but the recruiter had taken one look at his scores and informed him that he had a gift for healing and curse breaking that they couldn’t afford to waste.)  
It was nothing like he expected. Yes, he’d heard stories of the horrors and atrocities which the Death Eaters had visited on their opponents. But British magic- even British Dark Magic- is an elegant, refined thing. There are rules of dueling, rules of what must and must not be done.  
He was utterly unprepared for the brutal, efficient savagery of the Dark Shamans. They did not care whether a spell was elegant, only whether it killed, and how quickly.  
He saw things that no one should have to see. Bodies torn to shreds, to red mist before his eyes. The British Aurors adapted, combing British methods with those of the Light Shaman Allies, and even the guerilla tactics of the local Muggles. He did the same in his medicine, learning Muggle techniques to fill the gaps when he was too exhausted to cast spells.  
It was two years in when he broke, staring down at the mutilated corpse of his friend. He’d died only a few seconds after reaching John’s table. Rage filled him- a terrible, incandescent rage. He dropped his wand, and found the muggle gun he’d acquired and the bullets he’d modified nearly a year ago. He went out into the battle and began shooting. The muggle weapon, with its enchanted bullets cutting through most shield spells, was unanticipated, and effective. Wizards-British or Afrikan-didn’t think in terms of projectiles, and they failed to protect themselves.

By the time the war ends a few months later, he’s a crack shot, decorated, and wounded. He never uses his wand except to heal. He’s seen the terrors that magic could wreak on human flesh, and prefers the cold precision of a bullet.

He cannot face the magical world, the adulation and innocence of the ones who stayed behind. He asks the Ministry for a single favor, instead, and though they shake their heads in incomprehension, they acquiesce. At twenty-eight years old, “Dr.” John Watson walks into the muggle world, and leaves the magic behind. 

He finds a job with a GP, and puts the muggle medical knowledge he learned in the war to good use. He spends long hours studying, learning all the knowledge his degree claims he already possesses. He never uses magic, not even for convenience, unless it is to heal. He becomes adept at both the subtle casting of spells, and the muggle knowledge that renders magical intervention increasingly unnecessary.

He meets Sherlock Holmes through Mike Stanford, the instructor of one of the night classes he took (“To stay fresh”, he lied), and knows instantly that his life will never be the same.


	3. Chapter 3

She loves magic, she really does.  
It’s just that everyone expects her to love nothing but magic. It doesn’t matter that she’s always liked muggle science, especially chemistry and biology, or that she is quite good at maths, too.   
The whole thing was made worse because she was in Ravenclaw. She was clever, so they expected her to be clever at magic. She gave up trying to explain that although the Gamp’s five laws baffled her, she could rattle off Newton’s three and their implications with ease. She accepted being the “dumb” Ravenclaw, and instead of hours bent over scrolls and tomes she studied Muggle textbooks on forensics and anatomy which she begged her father to smuggle in.  
She snuck the package off the reproachful school owl, and made use of the one charm she’d practiced- a concealment charm, that disguised her muggle books as potions books.  
She didn’t think they were actually against the rules. The anti-Muggle sentiments of the -90s no longer permeated Hogwarts. But it was easier not to have to explain, even to Dominique Weasley, her closest friend. Meena humored her love of Muggle Science, and helped her trough their magical classes. In return, Molly helped her in Arithmancy and potions, her only good classes and the ones closest to her beloved chemistry and maths.

She dreaded her fifth years careers meeting. When she finally met with the Professor, he gave her an odd look.  
“Miss Hooper. I’m afraid I find your face unfamiliar,” he apologized. She shrugged. She rarely spoke in class, never went to the quidditch matches, and didn’t talk really to anyone but Meena. She hardly recognized anyone outside of her classes, and would have been surprised if anyone had noticed her.   
“In any case, have you thought much about a career path?” He looked at her kindly.  
“I, uh... I’d like to be a forensic pathologist,” she found herself saying, and clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified. She hadn’t meant to tell anyone.  
The Professor’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s... that’s not a Wizarding position, isn’t it?” She flushed scarlet.  
“Er, no, it’s...um.” He made an encouraging noise. “It’s a thing that Muggles do. When someone dies, and they aren’t sure how. They figure it out, and if it’s a murder they help the police- that’s muggle law enforcement- find out who.” Despite herself, she couldn’t quite keep the animation out of her face and voice. The Professor looked at her thoughtfully.  
“You’re muggle born, that’s right. So you really want to live and work among Muggles again?” She nodded, biting her lip. “Well, we can do that. You’ll need to meet with a representative from the Ministry, who will speak to you about the statute of secrecy. And we’ll have to work on making up records appropriate to admissions for a Muggle School. But I am sure we can work something out.” He winked at her, and Molly felt a huge grin break across her face.

Thus at age seventeen, after two years’ intense remedial work, Molly finds herself leaving the magic behind for a fast track program at a prestigious muggle uni. She has no regrets, because while she loves magic, she loves science more.

By age twenty-six, she’s earned a position at St. Bartholomew’s, the youngest female pathologist to ever do so. She does her job, and does it well, and occasionally (half-guiltily) uses her magic when muggle methods fail her.  
When Sherlock Holmes walks into her morgue, she knows instantly that her life will never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. This chapter was the most fun to write- I just love Molly, and I love the thought of her leaving the Wizarding world not because of any deep seated trauma, but just cause she likes the muggle world better.
> 
> I do plan to continue this (and put in actual Sherlolly) but for now, I hope you enjoy!  
> Apologies if the tense changes where hard to follow (I assume you, they were worse to write!). These chapters serve as a kind of prologue, so further chapters will probably be in the usual tense.


End file.
